


Allar

by perpetuallycaffeinated



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallycaffeinated/pseuds/perpetuallycaffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This diverges from Supernatural canon around 6.10. The difference? Lucifer is brought back out of the pit along with Sam's soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allar

Dinner with Death had been tense that night. After failing to perform as his proxy for twenty-four hours (with that kind of job, no wonder he binged on junk food all the time), Dean had resigned himself to finding another way to bring Sam’s soul back from the Pit. However, the Horseman had surprised him in between bites of chicken. 

“It’s been lovely, but now I’m going to go to Hell, to get your brother’s soul.” 

As soon as the words registered, Dean felt something twist in the pit of his stomach. Powerful beings like Death didn’t just go and scoop up souls willy-nilly, especially not after a stern lecture on the natural order of things. 

“...Why would you do that for me?” he pressed.

“I wouldn’t do it for you,” Death replied with more than a hint of annoyance. Dean knew that he was prodding a sleeping giant every time he pressed the Horseman, but it was worth the risk for the chance to restore Sam’s soul. Still...he needed to be very, very careful. He didn’t move a muscle as Death leaned down to eye level, thoroughly lashing him with even, calm words. 

Dean’s talking-to done, the force of nature slowly fingered his ring, hesitating before he would put it on and descend into the depths of Hell on a little stroll. 

“And oh, Dean?”

Dean swallowed, trying to will away the knot of tension that was currently choking him. Death slowly blinked at him, face unreadable as he looked down at him; he looked almost amused. 

“You may need to tell Robert Singer to prepare an extra room.”

“What?” Dean sits bolt upright in his chair, startled at the implication. Was Death going to bring Adam back as well? Before he could get another word out, Death slid the ring back onto his finger in one smooth motion and disappeared from before his eyes. 

“Shit!” Dean scrambled to his feet, almost falling as he raced downstairs to where Bobby was guarding Sam in the panic room. 

“Open it, Bobby! Open it! He’s bringing something else back with him!” He urged. Bobby gave him a confused look, but he went with it, quickly unlocking the heavy iron door and swinging it open. Inside, Sam was staring into the middle of the air and squirming in his leather restraints. Dean had to force himself not to look away. Even though he was soulless, it was still, in part, his brother in there, begging him to save him from Death and the soul he held. Every part of Dean’s instinct was screaming to pull Sam away from whatever was frightening him so badly.

A flash of light, and Sam’s head snapped back as it slowly sank into him. A few more seconds, and it was gone, Sam limp and unconscious on the restraint table. 

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean couldn’t tell whether Death was still in the room or not, but he didn’t care. Rushing over the threshold, he shook Sam by the shoulder. When he got no response, he pressed two fingers to Sam’s neck. To his relief, there was a strong, steady pulse under the skin. 

“Oh thank--Bobby! He’s alive!” Dean’s voice broke as he felt most of the tension leave his body. He gave a nervous laugh, turning back to Bobby. The old man was still leaning on the door frame of the panic room, leaving the Winchesters to their tense moment. 

“Getting yer soul stuck back in you probably takes a lot outta you,” he said with a nod. “Kid’s just got to sleep it off...now what was this you said about something else piggybacking out of Hell with Sam?” 

From the look on Bobby’s face, Dean bet he was taking mental stock of how much blue label Johnny Walker he had left in the cabinets. 

“I don’t know, he said something about getting another room ready.” Looking back down at his brother’s unconscious frame, Dean worried at his bottom lip. “You don’t think there’s anything in there with him, do you Bobby?”

Bobby shrugged, glancing upwards--yep, definitely working out how much whiskey was going to get him through Dean’s mother hen worrying.

“Damned if I know, Dean. If you want to make sure, I’d call your little angel friend.”

As usual, Bobby made perfect sense. Dean leaned against the panic room wall and closed his eyes. 

“Oh Castiel who art somewhere up there--”

No sooner had Dean gotten the first phrase out, there was a frantic flurry of wings, and Castiel materialized outside of the panic room. Dean had seen the angel weary and stressed before, but never like this. His hair was even messier than usual, tie almost completely undone. As soon as he’d landed, Castiel surged forward, eyes wide in a panic. Seizing Dean by the shoulders, he shook the man, voice just as panicked and stressed as he appeared. 

“What did you do!? What did you do, Dean?!” 

“Whoa whoa, thanks for thinking I did it, whatever it is,” Dean snorted. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how, but Lucifer’s out!” Castiel snapped back. “I can feel it, Dean, every angel in existence can feel it!”

Dean felt an icy chill go down his spine at the angel’s words. Was Lucifer the other soul that Death had pulled out of the Pit? Could he have finally changed his mind about having a part in the Apocalypse? If so, then why not pull out Micheal as well?

Halfway through his musings, Dean realized that Castiel had a firm grip on his arm and was hauling him up the stairs and out towards the Impala. Bobby, he presumed, remained down with his brother in the basement.

“You want to explain things any further, Cas?” Dean managed to gasp before he was bodily thrown into the driver’s seat of his baby. Castiel flickered out of existence, only to reappear beside him in the passenger’s seat. Apparently, this was important enough for for the angel to take another harrowing ride by automobile. 

“All I know is that Lucifer walks the Earth again,” he replied, summoning Dean’s keys into the car with them and throwing them into the man’s lap. “Now drive. If we don’t find him, Raphael and his followers will.”

That was more than enough information for Dean. Revving the Impala to life, he only gave her a few seconds to wake up before peeling out of Bobby’s driveway. Raphael’s side was set on restarting the Apocalypse, and it’d be a lot easier for them if they had Lucifer. 

They drove for nearly an hour, Dean going off of short, barked orders from his newest GPS system, Castiel. If Death was going to bring him back, couldn’t he have the decency to do it within walking distance?

Castiel led him to what looked to be the remains of an old church, serenely crumbling and falling apart in an abandoned portion of the woods. Even the road was merely a long stretch of dirt, asphalt and gravel having given way to nature several miles back. 

“You think this is it, Cas?” Dean asked as they rolled to a halt. He could practically feel the angel vibrating in the passenger seat next to him, like one great big angelic divining rod.

“I know,” Castiel murmured, staring wide-eyed at the church. Dean stared as well, trying to see anything ominous in its architecture and failing. “Lucifer can only enter this world through a House of God where blood has been shed.”

“And?” Dean prompted. Castiel turned his head to give the hunter a blank stare.

“And in the year nineteen twenty-three, a woman killed herself in the sanctuary.”

“Oh, well, that’s your problem right there...” Dean said weakly, turning his attention back to the church.

When Dean didn’t unlock the car door quickly enough, Castiel blinked out of existence yet again, reappearing in front of the car. Dean rolled his eyes as he followed; it looked like Cas was too important for doors now. 

“You will stay behind me,” Castiel ordered. Dean didn’t argue, following the angel as they edged closer to the church, each man wielding their respective weapons. Dean knew that his sawed-off shotgun would only annoy the devil, but the feel of it in his hand calmed him. 

Sort of.

Castiel advanced slowly, Dean trailing behind until they reached the great pair of doors. The angel ran his hands over the wood carefully (checking, Dean assumed, for Enochian wards or traps) before grasping the handle and pushing inwards.

Dean had been bracing himself to see something like the last time the Pit had been opened; blood, maybe some sacrificed nuns or a dead demon or two. However, the inside of the sanctuary looked just as nondescript as the outside had.

“...You sure your angel radar’s not off, Cas?” he hissed under his breath.

The angel didn’t justify his question with an answer, just shooting another murderous look over his shoulder and placing a hand on Dean’s chest to still him over the threshold. 

“Stay outside until I tell you otherwise.” There was no mistaking it for anything other than an order. Castiel’s tone froze Dean in his track, summoning a flare of some strange heat in the hunter’s body. He swallowed the urge to snipe back at Cas, nodding before taking a step back.

Now alone, Castiel moved along the pews, sword still at the ready. He had gotten halfway down the aisle when he froze, seeming to rise up and puff up by a good few inches like a startled cat in a trench coat.

“Dean, he’s here. Dean.” 

The hunter reacted immediately to the shock in Cas’ voice, closing the distance between himself and the other man in a few hurried strides. When he saw what Castiel had seen, sprawled between the rotting wooden pews, he nearly dropped his gun.

Flat on his back, apparently just as unconscious as Sam was back at Bobby’s house, was the form of Lucifer’s first vessel. All of the sores and marks on his face had vanished, replaced by flawless, smooth skin. 

He looked, Dean thought, remarkably human. 

Sliding his sword back into the depths of his coat, Castiel slowly sank onto his knees, hands hovering over Lucifer’s prone form. 

“Dean, help me get him into the back of your car.” 

“I am not putting the devil in the Impala,” Dean replied, taking a step backwards in surprise. Shouldn’t they be trying to kill the bastard while he was out for the count?

Castiel sighed, the slope of his shoulders shifting to betray a moment of weariness.

“Dean, you asked me if there was any way for you to help me...this is how you can.”

Dean did want to help Castiel, even though it meant pulling the Great Destroyer, Light Bringer and Enemy of Mankind up into an awkward fireman’s carry to dump him in the backseat of his car. Lucifer was nothing but dead weight, and a pain to fit into the seat; Dean grumbled to himself as he positioned, then repositioned the angel for transport.

“Welcome to Dean’s angel taxi service, please keep all your wings inside the vehicle at all times...whoa now, Cas!”

Dean startled as another body pressed up behind him,one arm reaching around him to try and reach Lucifer’s prone form. 

“I apologize, Dean,” Castiel murmured, pressing closer. “Before we allow him into Bobby Singer’s home, I just need to check him for...nh..”

Another stretch, a grunt of effort sent hot breath curling against the nape of Dean’s neck (who did not shiver), and Castiel pressed a single fingertip to Lucifer’s exposed skin.

Immediately, an intricate network of Enochian symbols burst into being on Lucifer’s skin. Bright blue, they ran in continuous strings just under his skin, moving like some great, constricting snake around the angel’s body. Dean couldn’t understand the language, but it appeared to be a five-character pattern, shifting and squirming over the angel’s skin. The hunter didn’t even have time to shut his eyes before the writing contracted, tightening and flaring once before sinking back into nothing. 

Dean looked over to Castiel, expecting an explanation. Instead, his friend had the same blank look of shock on his face that Dean could feel on his own.

“...You wanna clue me in here, Cas?” he croaked, looking back and forth between the two angels. “What’d that say?”

Castiel flicked his tongue out, a nervous tic he’d picked up from the elder Winchester brother. 

“...Allar.”


End file.
